


Sex Doesn't Alarm Me

by jagnikjen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bedroom Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg propositions Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Question

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock Drabble Fest Spring 2015 with the prompt "sex doesn't alarm me". Once I finished, it was no longer a drabble, double drabble, or 221(not)B, although all the chapters have 221 words each.

**The Question**

The lift doors swished shut and Greg leaned against a side wall, arms and ankles crossed. He regarded Mycroft Holmes. Despite Sherlock’s frequent snide remarks, Mycroft was fit.

“How long have we known each other?” Greg asked.

“We met within six months of your relationship with my brother. That puts our acquaintanceship at roughly ten years now.”

Greg rubbed a hand along his stubble. “Ten years, huh? That’s a long time.”

“It is,” Mycroft said, watching, waiting, tense.

Greg pushed off the wall and stepped into Mycroft’s personal space. Mycroft gazed down at him, a brow arching, but his pupils widened and the tempo of his pulse was now visible on his neck. He took a step backward.

Greg closed the gap once again. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to push you against the wall and have my wicked way with you?”

Mycroft swallowed, then blinked once, eyes widening just a bit more. “De—” He cleared his throat. “Detect—”

“The name’s Greg.”

“Greg...” His tongue swiped across his lower lip, sending desire straight to Greg’s groin. “I’d say...why?” 

“Because I have a feeling that underneath that bespoke suit lurks a very passionate man. And I’d love to see you naked and spent.”

Mycroft’s mouth opened and closed. He swallowed.

“Does that alarm you?”


	2. The Denial

**The Denial**

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Mycroft Holmes kept his voice controlled. His body was another matter however.

“No...” Greg shook his head. “Plain old vanilla sex doesn’t alarm you, but hot and sweaty, down and dirty sex does.”

Mycroft’s trousers had got snug. Thank God for waistcoats and suit jackets.

“Sex in a lift, perhaps?” A dark brow arched over an equally dark eye.

Mycroft’s eyes went round as saucers and his breath stalled. “We mustn’t,” he breathed. But the idea made him completely hard and as alarmed as a three-alarm fire. His heart beat as rapidly as Sherlock firing off a deduction, and his thrumming pulse was no doubt visible just above his collar. God, he should have been well past schoolboy reactions at his age.

But Greg’s eyes bore into his. The want, the desire rolled off him in waves. “No. No good for neither of us. But it got a reaction out of you, yeah?”

Greg dragged a finger from the knot of Mycroft’s perfectly knotted tie to the buckle of his belt, hidden below the layers of his suit jacket. Had he gone any lower, he would have encountered the ridge of Mycroft’s straining erection.

From the look in Greg’s eyes, he knew it.

“After ten years, do you think we could change the nature of our relationship?”


	3. The Proposition

**The Proposition**

Greg retreated to his side of the lift.

The fire in Mycroft’s eyes and the stunned expression was more than Greg could have hoped for. His cock perked up a bit, knowing Mycroft currently sported an erection the likes of which he probably hadn’t experienced in years.

“A change?”

If Greg hadn’t been focused on Mycroft’s mouth, he would have missed the slight hitch. “Yep.”

“I take it this change would have something to do with naked and spent.”

“Yes. Yes, it would.” He grinned at Mycroft.

Mycroft opened his mouth, but the lift stuttered to a halt, the lights went out, and the alert began to chime.

A moment later, the battery powered emergency light flickered to life, casting pale blue-tinted light over them.

Greg fished his mobile from his pocket and glanced at the waiting text. “Let me reply to Sherlock and then I’ll call Sally.” Instead of replying to Sherlock, he sent Sally a text. _When I call, follow my instructions in 15 minutes._ Then he called her. “We’re stuck in the center lift. Call building maintenance. Thanks.”

“Did you arrange this?” Mycroft’s voice was a bit breathless.

“I don’t have that much power. Did you?”

Mycroft snorted.

“Seeing as how we have some time to kill, can I have my wicked way with you now, Mycroft Holmes?”


	4. The Answer

**The Answer**

Mycroft’s heart thumped like the rotors of a helicopter and his erection now threatened to burst his zip. He’d never been so hard in his life. He daren’t move however for fear the rub of fabric would have him ejaculating in his pants like a schoolboy.

Hunger and lust glittered in Greg’s eyes. _Remarkable._ Mycroft had never been the object of someone’s desire. It was heady, breathtaking, tempting. Oh, so tempting. But he was who he was and Greg… Well, this _was_ New Scotland Yard.

“We both have a lot to lose, you more than I, but there are no cameras and no microphones in the lifts. What happens in the lift, stays in the lift,” said Greg softly. He unbuttoned Mycroft’s coat and dropped to his knees.

“Gre—” Mycroft cleared his throat. Thank God he hadn’t touched him further. “A moment if you please.”

Greg offered a single nod. “We don’t have too many to spare, you understand?”

Mycroft nodded and took a breath. Then another and another, trying not to think about what was about to happen. Think about babies and puppies. About warm scones and Darjeeling tea. The ache and the fit of his trousers eased.

“But you bought us some time, didn’t you?”

“As much as I could.”

“All right.” Mycroft collapsed against the wall. “I’m ready.”


	5. The Aftermath

**The Aftermath**

Greg shuffled forward on his knees and, with gentle fingers, undid the layers of Mycroft’s clothing and took the man’s cock into his mouth.

Mycroft groaned and his whole body tensed. Hands landed on Greg’s head, holding him still. After several long moments, the hands loosened and a whispered, “Proceed,” reached Greg’s ears.

Greg licked and sucked. Mycroft thrust into his mouth and Greg braced his forearm across Mycroft’s hips. Glancing up, Greg saw eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea watching him. _Bloody hell, what a fucking turn-on._ He groaned around Mycroft’s cock and sucked harder and bobbed faster.

Several moments later, Mycroft’s head hit the wall and he shuddered to completion with a swallowed groan.

Greg rested his forehead against Mycroft’s muscular thigh, breathing harshly. “God, that was brilliant.”

He stood, pulled out a shirt tail, and wiped his mouth. Then he gently dried Mycroft’s flaccid cock and tucked it back into his pants. His own cock ached something fierce, but he’d take care of himself later. Greg smoothed Mycroft’s shirt tails into place before re-fastening his braces and trousers.

Dark blue eyes watched him. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“God, yes.”

“Then tell me we can do it again in a bed with some privacy and a long night ahead of us.”


	6. The Quandary

**The Quandary**

_Three weeks later..._

No sooner had Mycroft shut the door behind Greg than he found himself backed up against the wall, hands cupping his head, lips trailing kisses along his jaw and neck, a firm thigh budged up against his groin.

“God, you smell good,” Greg said, now working the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt, then his belt and trousers. “I’ve thought of little else but tonight.”

Mycroft was already hard, his breathing gone ragged. He’d thought of little else himself. Images of _naked and spent_ had flashed through his mind at the most inopportune moments. He stood pinned, wanting to desperately, but not quite able to respond in kind.

It wasn’t down and dirty, hot and sweaty sex that alarmed him, really. It was the loss of control that came with it. Lack of control in any aspect of his life, including—especially—this most intimate part of it, could spell disaster.

But maybe, just maybe, Greg could be his outlet. With twenty years on the force, he’d fought his way up the ranks, and though the younger generation welcomed homosexuality with open arms, the old guard in most organizations still looked disapprovingly on the reality of men loving men.

“What’s wrong?” asked Greg, pulling back.

“I believe you mentioned something about a bed, some privacy, and a long night ahead?”


	7. The Next Time

**The Next Time**

Mycroft’s bed was huge. Greg’s flat was small and his bedroom could barely fit the small double bed he owned. “Now that’s a bed.”

The pristinely made up bed with its plump pillows and expanse of dark beige sheets looked suddenly forbidding. He couldn’t even think about messing up the perfection of it, of staining the sheets with sweat and spunk.

“The sheets will wash, Greg, and the housekeeper will remake the bed. I do believe you promised me naked and spent.”

Lust shot straight to Greg’s groin. “Too right, I did.” He kissed Mycroft then, deep and wet, before divesting himself of his clothes and leaving them in a heap before working on Mycroft’s.

Greg glanced around for someplace to set the waistcoat and tailored shirt.

“Just add them to the pile,” Mycroft murmured, stepping out of his trousers and nudging them with his foot.

His bright white boxers were tented and Greg’s mouth watered in anticipation. His own erection bobbed between them. “After you...”

Mycroft pushed his boxers over his hips and arse and climbed onto his bed. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand.

Greg followed, taking Mycroft’s mouth in a bruising kiss, forcing him to his back. Greg’s hand found Mycroft’s cock, eliciting a moan, fisting it, milking it. “God, Mycroft, this is brilliant...”


	8. Naked

**Naked**

Mycroft closed his eyes—the sensations were almost overwhelming. It had been a while, but even so, there hadn’t been the undercurrent of want, of lust. The base need had been relieved, but the exchanges had been lacking in every other way. He realized that now.

“I can’t wait to be inside you, to feel you, tight around my cock.” Greg rubbed Mycroft’s chest, tweaking the peaked nipples, before sliding his hand down Mycroft’s thigh, bending the knee, caressing the curve of his buttock, and brushing a finger across his anus. Mycroft inhaled in pleasure, watching Greg from beneath hooded lids. He was nothing like previous lovers—a term Mycroft used loosely.

“Lube?” Greg asked.

Mycroft slid a hand beneath a pillow and handed Greg the small tube.

He slicked up his fingers and, with a gentleness Mycroft didn’t expect, Greg inserted a single finger and eased his opening; a second finger joined the first and continued the gentle probing until Mycroft undulated his hips in response. Taking position between Mycroft’s thighs, Greg hooked one leg over his shoulder and lined up his erection.

“All right?”

Mycroft met Greg’s dark gaze. “Yes.”

Greg pressed slowly in Mycroft’s body, inch by inch, until he was fully seated, eye contact never breaking.

Mycroft’s chest swelled with the absolute rightness of it. “Greg, please...”


	9. Spent

**Spent**

Greg pulled out and pushed in with deliberate slowness. Mycroft’s mouth open and closed, his hands fisted the top sheet.

Greg picked up speed and experimented until he found an angle that made Mycroft arch and gasp, eyes going wide. Greg impaled himself deep and dirty, his own breathing harsh in the otherwise still air.

Mycroft fought whatever sensations he was experiencing. A man like Mycroft—yeah, letting go could be dangerous.

“Let go, don’t fight it. You’re safe with me.” Greg kept his voice low. A promise.

He felt more than saw Mycroft relax. A moment later, a string of French words poured fourth, and Mycroft tightened and stiffened. Then with a strangled shout of Greg’s name, he arched and climaxed, come striping his stomach. Bloody hell—that was the most erotic thing he’d seen in ages. With a few more hard thrusts, Greg came as well.

Mycroft laid there, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths; a rosy flush covered his entire body. The scent of sex and sweat and Mycroft’s understated cologne filled Greg’s nose. He collapsed beside him, his own heart beating pleasantly hard in his chest. The faint chime of a clock sounded from some distant part of the house.

“It’s a good look on you…spent.”

“Is it?”

“I knew it would be.”

**~ Fin ~**


End file.
